#kinda fluffy

[lockeswoodss]

Day 8

You share a New Year's Eve kiss with your fellow attending Abbot: F!Reader/Jack Abbot

You help Jack get through this year's New Year's Eve celebration

CW: Alcohol Consumption, Canon typical violence/gore, drunk driving, inferred PTSD, car accident

WC: 2,171 (this one kinda got away from me😅)

Request: Anon

“Staaaaaaay,” a tipsy Trinity whined, as you put on your coat. She was always an affectionate drunk. Which, while it was endearing to see how much she cares, but never vocalizes, it didn’t change the fact that you were working the New Year’s Day shift tomorrow.

“Trin, it’s already 2230, and you know the surge pricing is only gonna get worse,” you responded. Your lack of a car wasn’t normally an issue since you could walk most places, but Princess’s house was in the opposite direction from the pitt.

“Plus, I gotta go thank Princess for hosting the party.” You said. Her roommate went home for the holidays, making Princess’s townhouse a perfect spot for an ED New Year’s party. You appeased your favorite day shift intern with a quick hug.

“Be safe,” you ordered, more than asking.

“Yes, Sir,” she said with an over-exaggerated salute, giggling to herself. You rolled your eyes, catching Dennis by the crook of his elbow as you passed him on the way to find Princess.

“Make sure she gets home safe, alright?” you asked, nodding at Trinity behind you.

“I will,” he nodded with a smile, “I’ll text you when we get home.”

“Thanks, Whittaker,” you said with a smile, continuing on your way. You had become a quasi-big sister to her after you covered a day shift and saw how Langdon treated her. You understood not babying the next generation of doctors, but he was fucking hostile, and it made you sick. You recognized her confrontational shell as a defense mechanism. Sure, she still had a blunt personality, but her combativeness was there to protect her. A survival tactic you yourself had employed when you entered the male-dominated medical field. While you may only be two years out from your own residency, you recognized that you’d still be there if it weren’t for a certain attending backing you.

His support raised your confidence; at every challenge, he was there to offer guidance, and he knew when to step back. His respect meant the world to you, and fuck if his earned cockiness didn’t do something for you. Especially when he was being cocky about his mentorship, bragging about you to Robby and any of the other senior attendings that’d listen. Fuck the subtle things this man did to you, he-

“Shit, sorry, Abbot,” you said, almost falling over after running straight into his firm chest.

Speak of the fucking devil

“You alright, kid?” he asked, his warm hand felt like a brand as he held onto your elbow until you steadied yourself. You felt hot embarrassment rise on your neck, crawling up to your face under his attention.

“Yeah, no,” you said, taking a step back, “I just wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“No, kidding,” he laughed, “I’d make sure you aren’t driving home, but you don’t have a car.”

“Yeah, it’s definitely an uber kind of night.” You replied sheepishly.

“Are you heading out early, too?” he asked.

“Um, yeah,” you nodded, “I’m covering Collins’ shift tomorrow. ”

“You need a ride?” he asked.

“No, I’ll be fine, plus I’d just be out of your way.” You replied.

“Kid, you’re only ten minutes out of the way.” He replied, “Plus, I’d feel a hell of a lot better if I dropped you off at your door than waiting for you to text me you got home safe.” He dismissed.

“I’m not gonna be able to get out of this one, huh?” you laughed,

“Not unless you want me to tail your Uber home.” He replied firmly.

“Okay,” you replied, not knowing if he was joking or not, “I just have to say goodbye to Princess, then I’m ready to head out.”

“Alright, I already thanked her, I’m gonna go warm up my truck. I’ll meet you out front in 5,” he said, clapping you on the shoulder as you left. You swallowed your nerves as you filtered around, finally finding Princess in her kitchen.

“Hey, I’m gonna have to call it a night,” you said,

“Leaving already?” she asked,

“Yeah, I’m in at 0700 tomorrow.” You confirmed.

“That’s rough.” She laughed, clearly a little tipsy, “Thank you so much for coming, and for the cookies, I think they only lasted a half hour.”

“Thank you for hosting.” You replied,

“Anytime,” she smiled, “Get home safe.”

You shared a brief hug before you headed for the entrance. As promised, Jack was parked out front. You made a quick sprint to his car to beat the cold on this windy December night. You let out a sigh of relief when you closed your door and were engulfed by the pleasant warmth of Jack’s truck.

“So, how’d you get strapped with a day shift?” he asked,

“Oh, Collins covered for me when my granddad passed away last spring. She’s home visiting some family, and I didn’t really have a reason to say no,” you said with a shrug as he pulled away from the curb.

“Good, thought for a second you might be trying to transition to days.” He confessed.

“Fuck, no,” you said without thinking, causing a surprised laugh to punch out of Jack’s chest.

“I mean, I don’t have anything against day shift,” you tried to back track.

“Sounds like you do,” he replied still laughing.

“It just has a different vibe,” you tried,

“Sure,” Jack said, clearly not believing you.

“I mean, I don’t not miss having a normal sleep schedule, but it’d be weird not working with you anymore,” you confessed, before quickly tacking on, “I’d also feel bad leaving Ellis alone. If I’m gone, whose gonna keep you and Shen in check?”

“Ellis can hold her own. I don’t think she could have asked for a better mentor than you.” Jack replied, Your face warmed.

“Well, I had a good teacher,” you commented softly, avoiding Jack’s gaze as you looked out the window. He took a breath like he was going to say something, before slamming on the brakes. The next thing you heard was metal against pavement as you watched the Jeep in front of you roll upon impact from an SUV t-boning it after running a red light. If you and Jack had left 20 seconds earlier, it could have been you. You immediately clocked a Disney-themed family decal on the back of the Jeep with two adults and three children.

“I’ll call 911,” you said as you and Jack both threw your doors open. He had his go-bag slung over his shoulder as you connected with the operator. You both rushed towards the Jeep, you taking the passenger side, while Jack took the driver’s side. It took priority because of its rapid leaking of gasoline.

“911, what is the location of your emergency?” you heard a level female operator’s voice call out now on speaker phone. You quickly supplied the crossroads of the intersection.

“What is the nature of your emergency?” she prompted.

“Car collision,” you started, getting on your hands to check the inside of the car, you took a sigh of relief, it was only a driver. Whom Jack had already maneuvered out of the car. You aided Jack in dragging him just far enough away that the potential issue of the car igniting was dampened. You began assessing him as a middle-aged woman staggered out of the SUV. She was bleeding severely from a head wound, walking with haste away from the scene. While a number of factors could explain her disproportionate bleeding, you had a sinking feeling in your gut that it was alcohol. You and Jack made the slightest eye contact, immediately understanding his next moves without him vocalizing it.

“Go, I’ve got him,” you reassured, before leaving, he informed the operator of the need for two ambulances, fire, and police. You turned your full attention to the victim. He had a broken nose from the impact of the airbags, he was unconscious, and his breathing was shallow. You called out your observations to your phone; you could hear the alarms heading your way in the distance. Just as you reached for a pulse, his breathing stopped altogether; you couldn’t find a pulse.  

“Starting compressions,” you called out as you straddled the victim, mindful of possible internal bleeding as you interlaced your hands and started CPR. You could barely hear the crack of his ribs as the first ambulance pulled up. You were greeted by name as a familiar EMT ran over to you.

“Hey, Javi,” you replied,

“Though you had to night off?” he asked,

“Had’s the operative word there,” you replied before filing them in on the patient’s status.

“Wanna go for a ride?” he asked as his partner saddled up next to you, ready for transfer.

“Your call,” you replied, not missing a beat with your compressions. You could see him and his partner nod at each other before you were loaded in with the victim. It took two more minutes before his pulse came back; it was thready, but it was there.

You quickly moved off the stretcher and out of the way as they pulled up to PTMH. Once they were out and in the pitt you hopped off the rig, only noticing how you looked. Your once clean, white shirt was now splattered with drying blood, and you still had residue of the tinted glass stuck to your jeans from when you initially crouched down to check the Jeep. You had just leaned your back against the brick wall on the outside of the ambulance bay, hands slightly shaky from the residual adrenaline, when a familiar green truck pulled up.

“You okay, kid?” Jack asked as he rounded the hood, holding out your phone.

“Yeah,” you nodded in thanks as you pocketed it.

“Drunk driver?” you asked. He nodded, a crease in his forehead, and lines accentuating his frown as he looked down at his phone.

“What’s up?” you asked

“I was trying to beat the fireworks, but there’s no way I’ll make it back to my place in time,” he sighed.

“Why would you-oh, shit,” you replied, realizing the answer mid-question. You immediately felt stupid for not realizing it sooner. Jack was such a sturdy force; it felt like nothing could stop him, at least to you.

“Yeah,” he nodded. You pulled out your own phone and checked the time.

It was only ten minutes til New Year's.

“I only live two minutes by car. If we hurry, we can make it back to my apartment in time.” You spoke.

“Kid, I’ll be fine-”

“No, you won’t be.” You said, cutting him off, “I’m not letting you get through this alone.”

“I’ve done it before,” he said, rocking on the balls of his feet, “You really don’t have to-”

“Dammit, Jack, just let me.” You said desperately, “Nothing that happens will change my perspective of you. You don’t have to be a hero all the time; can you just be human? Just for tonight. Just for me?”

You both stood frozen in time, eyes locked, before he broke and looked down at his phone. He took a deep breath before responding.

“Okay,” he replied, just above a whisper. You nodded, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze before you piled back into his truck. You gave him directions to your unused parking spot, five minutes remaining as you entered your building. Thankfully, the elevator was on the ground floor. You made it to your apartment with two minutes to spare. Jack trailed behind you, locking your door behind him. You pulled him into your bedroom and quickly closed your blackout curtains before grabbing a pair of headphones that had been charging on your desk. You held them up to your ear as you turned them on and activated the noise-cancelling feature. You thrust them into his hands, pulled out your phone, opened Spotify, and gave him your phone.

“For the noise,” you answered simply at his confused look. You urged him to put them on and take a seat on your bed as you turned off the lights. You were bathed in darkness as you made your way back over to your bed. Your eyes had just adjusted as you heard the chanted countdown from your neighbor’s apartment. You interlaced your hands and gave Jack’s hand a squeeze, smiling up at him reassuringly. You could hear the noise of the rock music he was listening to leak out of your headphones. You studied his face for any sign of panic as the first of the fireworks sounded off. To your relief, he was unaffected and smiling down at you. Your face warmed when you realized how close you were, but as you went to pull back, he caught your jaw. Your eyes fluttered shut as you shared a chaste kiss.

“Happy New Year,” he whispered against your lips, foreheads resting together.

“Happy New Year,” you replied, pulling him in for another kiss, your own fireworks going off.

A/N: I pushed prompt 9 back so that my days would line up again. I will hopefully still be able to get it out tonight.

Masterlist: here

[lyn31]

Hi! Your writing is amazing and wholesome! I have a request if you don’t mind.

Can you write one where MC is visually paired/blind and feels guilty for relying on Zayne to take care of her? Like she’s no longer employed as a hunter and needs a lot of help with day to day things. MC feels like she’s burdening Zayne but he’s happy she trusts him to rely on him.

This could be amazing as a hurt/comfort, angst with happy ending piece. Thank you for your time! 🩵

Thank youuuuu 💕 I'm glad you're enjoying my writing but also how are you guys saying my writing is so wholesome and then asking just the saddest thing 🥹 and here I am enabling you guys ahahahaha

But anyway, what a request, from someone with such a shit eyes and cannot do anything without my glasses, losing my sight is one of the thing I'm afraid the most... So this was really hitting me... Although it wouldn't be the same, I try my best! Hope you like it! 🥹🫶🏻 Let me know what you think! 💕

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Seeing You

Summary

After a mission leaves you in the dark, with only the sound of your own breath to anchor you, Zayne is there—steady, patient, and always present—even when you can’t see him. You’re learning to navigate the silence, the hesitation in your steps, and the quiet adjustments he makes to help you find your way, but the weight of needing him still feels too heavy.

Ao3 link

My Masterlist ✨

Notes

Pairing: Zayne x MC/Reader CW: Losing eyesight, adjusting emotional and physically, hurt/comfort, establish relationship, sad and sweet!

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It’s been three months since that mission. Three months since the blast knocked you backward. It went dark—and stayed dark.

No light. No outlines. No vague movement. Just the memory of color and the sound of your own breath in the void it left behind.

You’re curled up on the couch now, knees tucked under your chin, your fingers absently worrying at the hem of your sweater. You’re still not used to the silence—not the real kind, but the kind that comes when you can’t anchor yourself to anything. You can’t scan your surroundings. You can’t gauge the time by the position of the sun through the windows. You can’t even see Zayne, though you know he’s there.

You hear the soft click of the stove turning off. The scent of shrimps and roasted vegetables still hangs in the air, rich and warm and a little bit sweet—he made your favorite again, not that you’d asked. You don’t really ask for anything these days.

A gentle scrape of a spoon against ceramic, the low thud of a cabinet closing. He moves around the kitchen quietly, but not in a way that hides him. You can always tell where he is now—by the soft brush of his clothes when he passes, the steadiness of his breathing, the tiny pauses he makes when he’s about to speak but lets you take the lead instead.

You shift, reaching out for the coffee table you know is just a foot or so away, fingertips hovering in the air like you’re afraid of touching wrong. You’ve done that more than once—brushed too hard, bumped too fast, knocked over whatever he’d set down for you.

You pull your hand back and curl into yourself instead.

You used to be a Hunter. You used to walk into danger without flinching, shout orders without second-guessing. Now you hesitate before every step, memorize the number of paces from the couch to the kitchen, trace the edges of every wall and object like they’re foreign terrain.

And Zayne—he just keeps showing up. Cooking meals. Leaving your mug always in the same spot. Letting you listen to the news through his holoscreen instead of reading reports. Helping you dress without saying a word about it, even though you know he notices when you pause—fingers lingering over the curve of your waist or the scar near your collarbone, trying to remember what you look like now.

You hate needing this much. You hate how fragile it makes you feel.

You sink deeper into the cushions and let out a breath that feels too heavy for your chest.

Zayne doesn’t say anything. Just sets a bowl on the coffee table—gently, like he knows you’re listening—and walks around to sit beside you. The couch dips under his weight. His presence radiates calm, a low thrum of quiet strength, and part of you wants to lean into it. But you don’t.

Because he’s still whole. And you… you don’t know what you are anymore.

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The kitchen still smells like the meal Zayne made earlier. You’d insisted on rinsing the dishes yourself, even after your hand brushed the edge of a plate too fast and sent it clattering. That one hadn’t broken. This one does.

You’re trying to find the sink. Your fingers skim the counter, the edge of the drying rack, too fast, too eager to prove you still can. And then—

Glass hits tile.

It shatters loud, sharp, immediate.

Somewhere beneath your ribs, your breath catches. You freeze.

And then the tears start. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just this slow, helpless stream that slips out before you can pull yourself together. You press your palm flat to the countertop, jaw trembling, but the pressure doesn’t ground you like it’s supposed to.

You don’t even hear Zayne coming.

One moment you’re alone, holding your breath like you can rewind time if you just stay still. The next, he’s there.

You feel the air shift before you hear the soft rustle of his sleeves, the quiet clink as he picks up the larger pieces, careful and methodical.

“I’m fine,” you whisper, though your voice cracks. “I didn’t cut myself.”

But he doesn’t take your word for it. His hands find yours gently, his cool touch steady against your skin—unmistakably him. His thumbs brush across your knuckles as he turns them over, checking for blood. You feel his breath when he exhales, low and steady, like he’s trying to pass the calm into you.

And maybe that’s what undoes you.

“I hate this,” you manage, your voice tight, hoarse with the effort not to break further. “I can’t do anything, Zayne. You’re always cleaning up after me. I can’t fight. I can’t even walk across the room without bumping into something.”

You expect silence. Or worse—reassurance that sounds like pity. But when Zayne answers, his voice is low and even, every word weighted with quiet conviction.

“You don’t have to fight for anyone right now,” he says. “You just have to let yourself heal.”

You open your mouth—to argue, maybe. But he’s not finished.

“And I’m not cleaning up after you,” he adds, his hands still around yours. “I’m just… here. With you.”

His tone doesn’t shift, doesn’t soften with sympathy or hesitation. It’s not a line he practiced, or a comfort he thinks you want. It’s just truth. Plain and steady.

You don’t know what to say to that. Not yet. But you lean forward, forehead pressing into his shoulder, and he lets you stay there as long as you need.

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You’ve stopped asking.

Not just for the little things, but for the bigger ones, too. Not like before, when the silence came from grief. Now it’s sharper—calculated. You tell yourself if you just manage on your own, even a little, you’ll stop feeling so heavy in the space between you and Zayne.

It’s not that you don’t need help—god, you do—but there’s something in you that can’t bear the sound of your own voice when you ask for it. When you ask where something is, when you hear the pause in Zayne’s breathing because he knows you’re trying to do it alone again.

You’ve memorized every corner of the apartment now. Counted the steps between walls. Traced the edges of cabinets and drawers like braille. And still, you trip. You reach too far. You knock things down.

You never say anything when it happens. Just sweep up what you can and pretend nothing’s wrong.

Until tonight.

Zayne’s shift ran late. You told him not to worry, that you’d be fine, that you might even be asleep when he got back. But sleep doesn’t come. Only noise—quiet and sharp—the kind glass makes when it slips from trembling fingers and meets tile.

You’re on the floor when he walks in. Knees tucked underneath you, hands moving gently over the broken dish like you could will it back together by touch alone. Your fingers skim each shard carefully, as if mapping it with memory might fix the cracks.

You don’t even look up when the door opens.

You whisper, like you’ve been holding the words in for hours.

“I thought if I just tried harder…” Your voice is barely audible. “Maybe I wouldn’t need you so much.”

Zayne doesn’t speak right away. No gasp, no rush to fix it. Just the soft thud of his coat sliding off, the quiet tap of shoes being set aside, and then—

He kneels beside you. Not in front of you, not across—just next to you.

His hands find yours gently. Thumb brushing the back of your wrist, then his fingers closing around yours to ease the shards from your grip. You feel the sting now—tiny cuts you didn’t notice in your panic, dull and blooming with heat.

Still, he doesn’t scold. Doesn’t even sigh.

He just wraps his arms around you, slowly, like he’s giving you time to lean in if you want to. You do.

“You’re not weak for needing someone,” he says, voice low against your ear. “You’re brave for letting me in. For trusting me with this part of you.”

You press your face into his shoulder and breathe—finally, deeply, like your chest had been locked shut for days.

“You are never a burden,” Zayne murmurs. “If anything, I’m grateful you let me be here.”

He holds you tighter—not caging, just certain.

“You’re still you,” he adds. “You always will be.”

You don’t answer right away. Your throat aches too much to speak, and your hands are still trembling. But you nod, barely, and he feels it.

He stays with you on the floor until the shaking stops. Until your breathing slows. Until you’re ready to let him help you up—not because you can’t, but because you don’t have to do it alone.

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It’s been weeks since that night on the floor. Weeks since you let Zayne pull you close and whisper the words you needed to hear, the words you didn’t know you were waiting for.

Things don’t always feel easier, but they feel different now—less like the weight of your injury is pulling you under, and more like you’re learning how to breathe again. Zayne’s been a constant, never pushing, always there with quiet reassurance and those small adjustments that mean more than you ever expected.

He’s marked the apartment with subtle cues—soft fabric along the edge of the counter so you can feel it with your fingertips, a slight texture on the edge of the hallway wall that helps guide you without needing to ask. He’s arranged things so you can always find what you need without fumbling too long. The light switch for the bathroom has a tiny bump on it, and the door to the bedroom has a narrow line of tape so you know where it opens.

It’s not about making you reliant on him—it’s about helping you find a new way to move, to navigate.

And then there’s the audio device. You don’t know exactly when he got it, but one day he’s setting it up on the desk, programming it with your Hunter files. You can still help with missions, still offer advice, analyze strategy—all with just your voice. He never calls it retirement. Always, it’s a new way to fight.

It’s not the same as holding a blade or charging into the field, but your voice still cuts through static, still steadies others when they’re lost. Maybe it was never about the way you fought—maybe it was always about why.

You’ll never get used to how much he sees you, even when you can’t see yourself.

Today, you’re standing in the living room, fingers tracing the edge of the couch. The room is quiet, but it’s a good quiet. The kind that means you’re not trying to force yourself into something you’re not anymore. You’re just… moving forward.

You reach out instinctively. You know the kitchen is just a few steps away, and you trust the path Zayne’s mapped for you. One step, two steps, and then—

The edge of the doorway. Your shoulder brushes the frame but doesn’t slam into it. Not this time.

You stop. A soft laugh escapes you, more of a breath than anything, and you take another step, slowly, just to test it. And then you do laugh, quietly, like it’s a secret you’re finally letting go of.

“That’s the first time I didn’t smack into the doorway,” you say, almost in disbelief.

You pause, listening. Zayne’s footsteps are familiar now—the soft tap of his sandals against the floor, the subtle shift in the air when he’s near. And then, you feel him there, close enough that his warmth almost brushes against you.

Without a word, his lips find your temple, pressing gently, a quiet reassurance that you don’t need to see to feel. His presence wraps around you, steady and constant.

“Proud of you,” he murmurs, voice low and sure. “Told you—you’ve never stopped moving forward.”

You let the words settle, his touch grounding you in a way that’s become as familiar as his voice. You can’t see him, but you can feel him in everything—his pride, his belief in you, the quiet patience that’s helped you find your footing again.

And maybe, just maybe, in this moment, you’re starting to believe in yourself again too.

The days are different now. The apartment feels smaller somehow, not in a suffocating way, but like it’s been rearranged, reorganized—not just by Zayne, but by the new rhythm of your life. You’re adjusting, one step at a time. And it doesn’t hurt as much anymore to ask for help, to trust that you’re not a burden. You’ve found a way to move with it, to move with him.

But today, Zayne’s quiet about something.

It’s only when you’re halfway through the process of organizing some files on the desk that you hear his footsteps shift on the floor, the faint sound of him standing still just to your side. His voice breaks the quiet, steady and calm. “Pack a bag. We’re going somewhere.”

You pause, fingers stilling on the papers. “Where?”

“Just trust me.”

The bags are packed without much question. A couple of hours later, you’re in the back of the car, the hum of the engine the only sound filling the air between you. You don’t ask more questions. You just let him drive, let him take you wherever it is he’s planned for you. When you reach the cottage, the quiet of the countryside surrounds you like a soft blanket.

It’s peaceful. Still.

And when you step out of the car, the air smells different—fresher, richer, filled with the scent of trees and earth. Your fingers brush through the grass as you step forward, the slight give beneath your feet grounding you in a way the city never could.

Zayne’s there to guide you, his hand just a breath away, his touch cool and steady as it always is. He doesn’t say much, letting the place speak for itself.

He leads you slowly, guiding you toward the water. You hear it before you feel it—the soft, rhythmic lapping just ahead—and that’s when you stop, sinking to the ground. Not falling this time—just grounding yourself, steady on your own feet. Zayne follows, settling beside you in the grass.

The air is warmer here, touched by the water’s presence. You can’t see it, but you feel it—the subtle pull of the surface, the gentle ripple that hums through the space like a heartbeat. You reach out beside you, and his hand finds yours without hesitation. Cool, steady, familiar. His fingers wrap around yours like an answer.

“You don’t have to see to know you’re in the right place,” Zayne says quietly, his voice like the rest of the world—calm, patient, and full of certainty.

You nod, letting your fingers drift out to feel the warmth of the air on your skin, then moving up to trace the curve of his jaw. His face is familiar beneath your touch, every line etched in a way that’s become a part of you. Your breath catches for just a moment, the weight of everything you’ve been through settling over you.

“As long as you’re here, I already know,” you whisper, feeling the words more than speaking them.

Zayne’s other hand moves to yours, stilling it for a moment, then pulling you gently against him. His lips brush your temple, light and soft like a promise.

“I’ll always be here,” he murmurs, his voice deep, steady. “Always.”

You don’t need to see it to know it’s true. The world is full of so much more than what you can see. The warmth, the trust, the unspoken bond between you—it’s all here. In this moment. And for the first time in a long while, it feels like everything is exactly where it’s supposed to be.

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Notes

Before I got teary eyes, this one is water work 😭 I cannot even imagine... too scary man, and I know I'm the one writing their exact reaction and dialogue but man... Zayne... where do I find this man??? He's not outside that's for damn sure 😦 I say it before but I really am my biggest fans, I like my joke, I like my story first so yk 😩🤣 Alright serious now, hopefully y'all enjoy this 💕

[mspxtts]

@willthxtbeall

she's standing in front of her walk-in closet when tony turns up in the morning, a row of gowns and dresses arranged by colour along with a small mountain of boxes from designers stacked to her left. the annual fireman's ball is in two weeks, and pepper potts is searching for the perfect dress.

"hey, did you pick up that order from botega?" she asks him without even turning around to look. true to form, she'd ordered six pairs of shoes to pair with her six gown options.

[babybunnyv]

!!!Brother Cuddle Time!!!

Big Bro FINALLY has enough time to cuddle with his Baby all night. They snuggle into his queen bed with snacks and movies. Baby Bro strips down to his shorts and Big Bro convinces him he doesn't need a shirt, they're both boys anyway.

He regrets that when he wakes up. Baby Bro is tangled around his Big Bro with a vice grip. Big Bro's scruffy face pressed directly into the middle of his Baby's chest. He's in complete soft bliss that takes him right back to sleep

[innorality]

lowkey thinking about sanji shotgunning you during sex and you both are so intoxicated that every sensation becomes alarmingly overwhelming but who cares? as long as you're both together, nothing matters.

[icycoldninja]

Hello! Can you do a dmc boys + V with a rich S/o? Perhaps the boys didn’t know that their s/o was rich when they first started dating but as time went on and the relationship becomes serious the s/o starts to spoil their boyfriends with all kinds of stuff related to the things they like because after the stuff they went through they definitely deserve it.

Aww yes, here you go and enjoy!

Sparda boys + V x Rich!Reader headcannons

¤ Dante ¤

-He was completely oblivious to your wealth (as you did a great job of hiding it) and didn't really give it much thought until one day, when his power went out.

-He groaned, suddenly remembering he had no money to pay the bills, but then, astoundingly, the lights flickered back on.

-Was it a miracle? No, even better, it was you. You had paid his bills and gotten him out of debt with Lady--how?! Then you revealed you were rich, and Dante's mind was blown.

-Even after this stunning revalation, Dante still didn't care. He was very thankful for all your help, but he honestly had no sentiments towards being rich. He still treated you the same.

-The only thing he'll ask you for is for you to buy him some pizza, maybe once every week or so. He's not greedy.

-If you decide to shower him with presents anyway, he'll gladly accept and immediately find a way to make it up to you, be it taking you somewhere nice or...something else. No do not read into that

■ Vergil ■

-Vergil never noticed, and never cared. He is far too MOTIVATED to trifle with mundane things such as wealth.

-But then you presented him with a rare copy of a book that was worth hundreds of dollars, and he had to question, how did you obtain the funds for such a thing?

-Thus, you revealed you were absolutely loaded with cash, and Vergil was, understably shocked.

-After thanking you, he went right back to not caring about wealth because now he has this interesting book to read.

-Still, he appreciates it when you gift him little gifts, regardless of what they may be. You could give him a pebble you found on the side of the road, and he'd still treasure it forever.

-To reward you for your generosity, Vergil will do his best to take good care of you, physically and otherwise.

□ Nero □

-Nero didn't think much of it either, cause he's not shallow, but one day, Nico's van broke down in the middle of the road and was assaulted by demons who ripped up the exterior. Repairs were going to be extremely expensive, but then you stepped in and promised to take care of it all.

-Nero had to wonder, where'd you get the funds for that? You sheepishly revealed your wealth and he just shrugged.

-After thanking you and all that, things proceeded as usual, with you and Nero splitting the bills for everything as you always do.

-Nero never asks for anything, regardless of how expensive it is, but you don't care. You shower him with gifts, love and affection because this sweet boy deserves it.

-You two end up leaving little treats 'n things for each other at a designated "drop off" spot somewhere in your house.

-Your gifts always seem to be well thought out and expertly made, proving that you don't just buy meaningless trinkets to appease him, you get him things that truly have value.

● V ●

-V noticed you always seemed to be impeccably dressed, but didn't dwell on the subject since it wasn't all that important. His current objective was to get to know you further.

-Then, as things progressed between you, he found himself constantly receiving little presents on his doorstep, usually wrapped in shimmering velvet bows. There was no name tag and no writing on it, so he had no idea who was doing this or why.

-One day, Griffon caught you placing a little gift box and, Griffon being Griffon, decided to rat you out.

-V then approached you the next day and expressed his appreciation, which led to a massive confession on both your parts. You explained you just wanted to give him the luxury he deserves, and he was very touched, but insisted you didn't need to do that.

-But of course, you don't listen, and continued to spoil him however possible, even if you have to break in at 3:00 A.M. and leave it on his kitchen table.

-Eventually you had him move in with you, where you can treat him like the lovely princess he is.

[korumimi]

Okay so, a while after the purgatory, everyone is back. Everything is fine. Mike is awake, everyone is in Christmas mood. So everything is fine. Pac is fine.

Cellbit and Roier are back and playing with Richas and Pepito while Pac watches from afar. Fit notices Pac and goes near him to say hi and see how everything is going.

Then he notices something. Something in the expression Pac is making. He looks distant. Kinda tired, maybe concerned. He is frowning a little. And before Fit says something Pac puts his hoodie back and warp away.

Fit is confused and goes check on the map where Pac is. He's on chume island. Without thinking he warps there too.

Pac is sitting in his armchair next to the water wheel. His with his knees next to his chest.

"Oi Pac!"

"Oh. Hi Fit!" His expression changes quickly to a happy face.

"Just wanted to check on you. You left without saying anything." Fit seats in the other armchair.

"Oh yeah I was about to go sleep. Organized some things in my inventory and all that stuff. Just seated here to... To appreciate the view!"

"Oh I see I see..."

They stay like that for a moment. Fit is a little worried so he doesn't want to leave yet.

"Do you mind if... If I stay here for a while?"

"No, no, not at all. Feel like this is your home too" Pac smiles.

Fit smiles back but stays quiet, appreciating the view too. He knows what happened in purgatory and Pac said that he even had fun in most of the time. Mike is awake now too. Richas is fine, and all his dads are back too. So he can't see the problem clearly. But he looks with attention and Pac seems a tired. Like he's not sleeping well.

"Are you sleeping good?" Fit asks in a lower voice.

Pac seems a little surprised.

"I thought no one would notice haha" He laughs. "I mean, I even tried to make that trick with the spoons to see if it get better but-"

"Pac"

Pac stops talking and see Fit is serious.

"Sorry Fit... Yeah but... I'm fine. I'm fine! Everyone is back on the island, commemorating the holidays, it's all fine!"

"Is there something bothering you? I mean, I'm here if you want to talk y'know. Like, don't feel pressured though, just- like- I want you to know I'm here." Fit is now inclined in Pac's direction, still sitting in the armchair.

Pac is quiet. First a little impressed but now he seems a little nervous, a little uneasy. He hugs himself.

"Okay so.... Im having these... These nightmares... So I'm not sleeping so well..."

Pac is fidgetting with his gloves and Fit waits for Pac to say more.

Pac sighs

"It's nothing! Like... It's just some dumb dreams, they are not real so don't need to worry about that."

"Do you want to talk about it? About the dreams?"

"I- I don't think... I don't know... Is just like..." Pac is now holding his leg.

"It's okay if you don't want to."

"Okay... Is just that- AAAARGH. I'm just so dumb, why I am like this!" Pac hides his face in his hoodie.

"I'm so useless..." Pac says just like a whisper.

"Don't say that!" Now Fit is next to Pac's armchair, crouching just to try and see Pac's face. "Can you tell me why you are saying this? I can help you Pac."

Pac peaks from his hoodie.

He exhales.

"Okay... So... I'm afraid of... Cellbit..." He hides himself. "You can laugh now, I won't judge, I would laugh too"

"Of course not Pac. It's okay to- to be afraid of things. Your feelings are valid Pac."

Pac stays in his little hideout. And Fit waits.

"Can you tell me why you are afraid of him?"

"Is just... He killed my friends once... He... He took my leg..." Pac grips his leg. Fit only waits with a surprised expression.

"And when we were in purgatory, he-he was there killing my friends! And- and- I-" He's voice is failing now.

"I couldn't do anything... I couldn't save them... I lost all my courage. And I was the lider! I was supposed to protect them!" Pac lifts his head trying to not cry.

"And I even said I could do things for him if he asked... It was like the prison all over again..."

And Pac tries to clean his tears before they fall. He doesn't want to look like this, even more not in front of Fit! But he can't stop crying. Why is he so useless. So afraid. Why he can't just, be strong! And stoic like any of the others! Fit could do that easily but he can't, because he is dumb and useless...

"But when we were together in purgatory you made it! You killed him and fought with him!" Fit tries to say in a optimistic way.

"That was because you were with me... You were by my side and I knew you could kill him. You could help me..."

"But it's okay Fit! You don't need to worry! Is just something dumb like me. Everything in the island is fine now, everyone is fine! So I will be fine..."

They stay quiet for a couples seconds. Pac is trying to clean his face with his sleeves.

"Can I hug you?" Fit is with a worried face.

And Pac is again impressed. Impressed that someone is by his side. Hasn't made fun of him. That someone is worried about him. Even though he's the most unluckiest guys on earth. And maybe he doesn't deserve anything happy. And he is even more impressed that this someone is Fit. He just wants to cry. But he cried so much already. Why is he like this.

But he accepts the hug. They stand up and they hug each other. And Pac cries a little more. But Fit holds him, and holds all the pieces that are trying to break and fall.

"Don't say that you are dumb or useless Pac. You are one of the most amazing person I have ever met. You make so many cool things, you are so smart. You made the fucking cure for that federation pill. You are awesome! You are kind and helps everyone in this island. You sacrifice yourself a little too much even, for the sake of others. Don't say bad things about yourself please... You are really good to me and makes me sad hearing that..."

"Sorry about that..."

"Don't be sorry! That's what fr- That's why I'm here for. I'm here to support you and help you when you need, okay?"

Pac doesn't respond right away. And now Fit is panicking a little. Did he talked too much? Is this going to scare Pac? Did he go too far? Now my heart is beating a little too fast. He will notice. Why my face is so hot. I just said I'm here for him, that doesn't make anything weird, right?

But Fit doesn't leave the hug. But they are quiet. And Fit is sure that anyone could hear his heart beating, so surely Pac is hearing. But Pac also doesn't leave. So maybe is fine. Finally Pac says something.

"Thank you Fit..." And Pac lifts his head to see Fit. "It means a lot to me."

And Pac is with the most honest smiles in his face. And he looks beautiful. The sunset is hitting his face making him glow. And Fit can't think in his panic anymore. Because he's stunned with how Pac looks.

Pac breaks eye contact and hugs Fit tighter, in a way of thanking him. And finally leaves the hug.

"Okay so I will leave for today. But thank you so much for what you said. It really means a lot to me. I know I still have to work on these...things... But I know that I can ask help if I need!" And his smiles so gorgeous.

"O-okay, but yeah! Anything you need just call me!"

"Thank you Fit! Bye!" Pac leaves for the wearhouse.

"Bye!"

And Fit is stunned. He just takes his warp and goes back to home. He doesn't move. Just place his hands in his face and blushes. Why is he like this.

On the other side Pac is just blushing and hiding himself inside his hoodie.

[slut4daviii]

character: k.bakugou

pt: 01/01

cw: bondage, sensory deprivation, orgasm denial, dumbification, hate-fuck, aged-up, dom male, black reader, hardcore smut, degradation, third person, first story, humiliation, badly written ending, uneven pacing, kinda-sorta drawn out,

summary: “i fucking hate you.” he said, his hands bound behind him, “y’know, you really shouldn’t say things like that when my dick’s up your ass, katsuki”

a/n: minors | fem-aligned DO NOT INTERACT. i also haven’t written anything official in like a year and a half so, please tell me how it is

title: a fine line between love and hate.

wc: 900+

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[name] panted heavily with sweat trailing down his forehead, sliding beautifully down his toned chest, his grunts filled the air as he dug deeper and deeper into the whimpering boy under him. Every movement, every thrust, every bit of eye contact sent pleasure running along their veins.

a panting, frantically quivering ash-blonde hung mere inches in front of him. his body weightlessly hovering above the ground— a curtesy of [name]’s capture tool. The two moved in perfect sync, aiding greatly to the massive amount of pleasure already surrounding them. bakugou felt his stomach tighten with the knots of his release. His back arching into a perfect crescent, slightly allowing [name] to push deeper than before, send the hero into a daze, his eyes rolled back and his body convulsed.

“nghk! cum— m’cumming!” he cried endlessly, the words engraving themselves into his mind, sticking like a mantra he couldn’t bring himself to let go of. [name] grunted at the newfound tightness around him. He sped his trust, pushing bakugou closer and closer— edging him, forcing him to endure more stimulation. if it were anyone but bakugou, they would’ve said it began to hurt, but for him, pain was replaced with pleasure.

“unt uh, not yet, slut” another band slid down [name]’s body, the sensation crossing into bakugou’s. the cloth constricted around bakugou’s cock, the tip flushing a deep crimson.“ghk! [n-name]!” bakugou couldn’t think, his mind was melting under [name]’s touch, the pads of his fingers igniting a feeling bakugou hadn’t felt with anyone else— lust. a firm slap echoed around the locker room, the only response was a straggled chain of incoherent moans from bakugou. “you spent all year- fuck,” pleasure coiled around [name], halting his movement, if only for a second.

he rocked his hips, the tip of his overstimulated cock rubbing against every inch of bakugou’s slick, utterly delicate insides. “almost came” he let slip past his lips, the sound quickly being replaced by a chuckle, “you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

another firm slap, bakugou shuddered, the skin stinging only for a second before [name] rubbed his hand over the area. “mngk! cum! w-want t’cum! p-please!”

“you didn’t answer my question.” [name] was toying with him, mind-fucking him, almost as well as he was doing his organs. “c’mon, the great dynamite can’t handle a few inches? can’t answer a question when his mind’s been fried by his classmate’s dick, huh?” [name] thrusted, eliciting a bittersweet groan from the boy who’d prided his whole existence on being stronger than others. “how do you think everyone’d react to you? being stuffed so full by my cock you can’t even think?”

bakugou almost moaned, his wrist and legs writhing against the firm bindings burning into his nerves. he couldn’t answer [name], or even form an insult. his mind was hinged on one thing, cumming. his pants got heavier and heavier, his mouth leaking an obscure amount of drool. “cum, pl-please [name]! i wanna cum!” he tried to push back against the brown-skinned boy, his eyes almost rolling backwards at the slight friction he received. “m’good! I’ll be a g’boy! so good! please! I want t’cum!!”

[name] cackled, satisfied with his work. “wow, bakugou! you’re really desperate, huh?” [name] looked at his discarded clothing, moving to reach for his phone. bakugou tried to move, tried to look, but the cloth tightened around him, another coming to neck. “mngh! cuhm! [n-name]” his moans came out labored, breathless and strangely pornographic. he was so desperate.

[name] started recording the ordeal, his phone camera glistening off the saltine liquid coating bakugou’s sickly sweet skin. “baku, look. you’re on camera!” he resonated, his voice laced with lustrous laughter. “c’mon, you gotta see this, you look like a complete whore!” bakugou, though bound and gagged, with all his senses taken away from him, tightened around [name], the feeling making the hero stutter. “f-fuck.” he worded. “really wanna cum?”

the response was immediate, a jumbled but absolutely chaotic nodding came from bakugou, his hair shaking in any way it could move. [name] licked his lips, his favorite thing about disheveling bakugou was how needy he got. “you really wanna cum?” bakugou, the best way he could, moaned, his muscular body constantly shriveling under the lustful gaze of [name] “more than anything! fuck me! fuck me! make m’cum! please! [name]!”

the way he pleaded made [name] weak in the knees, his composure becoming a distant memory. without noticing, he dropped his phone and tilted his head back, weakly pushing bakugou into a rhythm. “f-faster! I need it! I need y’big cock! fuck m’up! end me! cum in me! bred me [name]!”

“oh shit.” [name] gulped back his pleasure, the temptation almost too much. his hands gripped onto bakugou’s waist with enough pressure it bruised the boy. [name] pushed in one more time before pulling out until only his tip remained. he relentlessly thrust into the boy, his pent up emotions coming to the surface. bakugou rolled his eyes, the pleasure quickly encapsulating his body. his toes curled almost comically, the knuckles turning white.

“move th-the! can’t cum!” bakugou yelled, dazed. he couldn’t even form correct sentences. “cum pl-please! please [name]! can’t hold on!”

[name] twitched, the sweat around his body mixing with the sound of his cock drilling bakugou’s insides and the constant moaning of said male pushed him over the edge. “fuck! you want my kids?” he ripped the cloth from bakugou’s body, his cock throbbing for a second before thick strands of semen shot from his abused body. spasms overtook him and he began convulsing, the pupils of his eyes running to the back of his head.

white whirls spun around him, his hands clawing red streaks into his thighs, wanting anything to grip onto. He couldn’t do anything but let the stimuli run circles throughout his veins. when he came to, [name] was still thrusting, the sloppily put jabs hitting any and everything inside of him. “th-thank y-ou! thank you! thank you s’much [name]!” was all he could muster, straining to keep a consistent consciousness.

the now warm puddle of pleasure inside of [name] boiled over, and soon, he came undone. The white substance coating bakugou’s insides like a blank canvas. [name] kept his body pressed into bakugou, the two connected at their bases.

[name] was in utter heaven.

after a short period, [name] was able to even out his breathing, his lungs heaving against his ribcage— following the unbearable beating of his heart. he gulped, the sparse bit of saliva inside his throat barely able to coat the dryness now overwhelming his body. he, not wanting to, withdrew himself from bakugou replacing his cock with his hands, now wrapping them around the boy’s nape and thighs.

he undid his capture weapon, letting the half-limp body fall into his arms.

“tch, all that talk just to fall asleep after one round.”

bakugou nestled into his arms, moving his arm to cup around [name]’s face “I love you.”

[name] stopped moving, his brain not computing the phrase correctly. eventually his arms began stinging, the weight of bakugou’s sleeping body now straining his weakened body

he scoffed and continued to the showers. “I love ya too, baku.”